Follow You Home
by Alabasterclouds
Summary: After posting an advert online, seeking a mommy, Quinn has found Terri. She moved into Terri's home, only to undergo three months of abuse as Terri's "baby", a slave fully dependent on her "mommy". Will discovers abused Quinn and takes her home to take care of her. But will he be able to handle the needs of a 19-year-old special needs girl who acts like a baby? Infantilism, abuse.
1. Chapter 1

There was a time when her crib was a safe place. A place to snuggle, to suck her thumb, to sleep sweetly. It used to be safe.

Now, she hides under the crib, recessed in the dusty corner closest to the wall. She hides, knowing she'll be found anyway. Knowing it will hurt, even though she can't help it. She can never help it now. She's ruined and it's Terri's fault, but it's going to hurt anyway.

It's smelly and it's dark and she's scared, she's so scared, but she curls into a tighter ball, cursing the length of her legs and the fact that her toes just don't quite make it under the crib. Terri will burn her toes first . . . there are still scabs from the last time.

This was supposed to be safe. This was supposed to be loving, and caring. She was supposed to be Terri's baby.

And Quinn hears the footsteps on the stairs . . . her already sodden diaper warms and dampens again with her fear.

Terri's coming, and this time, she's not going to let Quinn off lightly.

Both fists shoved in her mouth, Quinn lets out a terrified scream.

/~/

If there's one thing Will Schuester hates, it's paying alimony cheques to his ex-wife. Look, everyone knew Terri was crazy – he knew it, too, but what was he going to do when he depended on her meager income to pay the bills and buy food? A teacher's salary only stretches so far, and he knew she was going to gouge him in the divorce. He hates being right, especially when it comes to Terri.

Ringing the doorbell in boredom, he just hopes he can get out of today's meeting quickly. With his money and her parents' inheritance (that he never saw a dime of, even though they died well before he and Terri divorced), Terri's purchased a fairly nice townhouse next to the park. It's not like Lima has a lot to offer in the way of real estate, but even Will has to admit Terri's done fairly well for herself. She's working in a doctor's office as a receptionist and she told him she got help for her "crazy", as she puts it.

Will has other thoughts on that score, but whatever. It's not like he has to deal with Terri often. If she wants to be crazy, let her.

He notices, as she swings open the door flirtily, that there's another pair of shoes by the door, and he wonders if Terri's got a friend over. If she does, he hopes he doesn't have to meet her. He's had enough of Terri's vapid friends whose primary idea of fun is to criticize him.

"Hi, Will," drawls Terri, and Will has to stifle an eyeroll.

"Look, Terri, I don't have time for small talk. Here's the cheque – sorry I couldn't mail it this month, but I'm heading out of town next weekend and I couldn't guarantee I'd have time to mail it by the court-ordered date."

"Oh, Will," she sighs, tossing her glossy blonde hair over her shoulders, "you know I don't care about that. I wouldn't use that against you."

He sighs. "I somehow don't believe that. Anyway, I also came to pick up that parson's bench upstairs. You said it was mine anyway?"

She seems to come out of her flirtiness. "Oh, that. I don't know, it's just ugly, and it may as well not go to waste. You can take it back to that hellhole of an apartment and figure out what to do with it. I don't have time."

Will has nothing to say to that, so she holds open the door wider and allows him to follow her inside. So far, he hasn't seen anyone else around, but he's aware of a certain tension in the house. This is amplified when Terri swings around on him.

"Look, I don't want you here for long. Get in and get out, okay? I'll be in the kitchen." She flounces off towards the kitchen, entering the living room inexplicably on her way. As Will has had the full tour of the place, it seems odd that she'd take a detour like that, but whatever. It is Terri, after all.

He climbs the polished stairs and notices more strange things . . . there's a cardigan slung casually over the railing, and a schoolbag on the bottom step. As far as he knows, Terri isn't taking any adult learning classes, though she could benefit from them. She never did go to college.

Sighing heavily, he reaches the top and notices the parson's bench across the hall. It's going to be heavy, but he can manage.

He's so busy thinking about how to get it down the stairs with no help that he almost misses the muffled scream from the closed room to his right.

/~/

Terri dumps the pile of Quinn's clothes she picked up from the living room couch on the kitchen table and taps her fingers impatiently against the shining surface. Quinn should be napping . . . should being the key word. Terri had beaten Quinn well on her return home from trying to run away this morning and imprisoned her in her room ever since. How dare Quinn try to leave? And she'd found spare diapers and clothing in her backpack. Running away? Not happening, little girl.

It'd been three months since Quinn had failed out of Yale. Well, that's not surprising. She'd never been what Terri would have called clever, but then again, she never was much for the preppy smart type. A broken little girl already . . . it hadn't been too hard to fit her exactly to Terri's will. It was just icing on the cake that Quinn had been looking for the same sort of relationship Terri had.

Terri had been perusing some Craigslist personal ads one night when she'd found one from someone looking for a Mommy. It had really never occurred to Terri that she was even into an infantilism-type roleplay, but why not? She's always been fairly kinky and as time went on, it certainly wasn't hard to play the Mommy role to such a sweet little girl as Quinn turned out to be. She'd contacted the poster on a whim, and it had turned out to be Quinn Fabray.

The girl had certainly grown prettier in the time since her pregnancy, when Terri had first met her. Now at almost 19, Quinn's hair was thick, long and blonde, and her skin flawless. And Quinn had been such a cute, tractable little baby . . . wearing and wetting her diapers, eating her food happily, and loving to be bottlefed. That was, until Terri started just a little punishment. To keep Quinn in line, you see. Baby would talk back and disobey. What Mommy wouldn't indulge in a little spanking and discipline?

And now Terri hates this whole thing. Some days it would be good to let Quinn go completely, and be done with this whole charade. Except she couldn't be sure her little sex slave wouldn't blab. To the police, maybe . . . show off those pretty bruises that Terri marked her with.

"She's mine," whispers Terri, and hopes that Quinn stays asleep long enough for Will to get the hell out of the house. She knows Will hates hovering, and if she had more energy today, she would hover over him, make sure that he didn't go into Quinn's room and disturb her. Not that he even knows she's there . . . they all think she's still at Yale. That's what she told the Glee club, anyway, at Thanksgiving over two months ago. Coincidentally, she'd already been living in Terri's house for three weeks when she met the Glee club then. How things have changed . . . Terri doesn't allow her to speak to anyone from that life now.

While Terri thinks all of this over, she stands up suddenly. She doesn't care if it is hovering. He'll get out of the house and away from this situation more quickly if she is standing over him. As she heads towards the stairs, she hears a muffled scream.

/~/

Will drops the heavy end of the parson's bench and turns in surprise towards the closed door of the room to his right. He could swear that Terri didn't have anyone here, but then, who just screamed?

Charging towards the door, he swings it open in time to see a pair of bare, bruised and scabbed feet disappear under a large crib before Terri herself comes charging up the stairs and behind him. He feels the pull of her hands on her shoulders, but throws her off easily – Terri isn't very big, and she's never been very strong.

Turning towards her, his face is a mask of shock and wonder. Terri speaks before he can do anything.

"Get out of there, Will." Her voice is dangerously low. He knows that voice. Yet . . . she no longer has any power over him, and she knows it. He can see the faltering in her cold blue eyes. She knows he's going in there and she won't be able to stop him.

"Who's in there, Terri?" Will's voice is mild, almost calming. The voice you'd use to calm a frightened animal, or maybe one that's about to charge you.

"Why would you think anyone was in there?"

"Well," says Will, slowly swinging open the door, "for one, I don't think most people have an oversized nursery lying ready for no one in their homes. For another, I know someone's hiding under the crib. Listen, I'm not here to judge any weird lifestyle you have. But I heard a scream."

Terri's face darkens ominously, and Will knows that the person under the bed, whoever they are, is not going to be let off lightly. In fact, he may have just made it worse for them.

He needs to distract her somehow.

"Look, Terri, I can't get that bench downstairs without help. Can you help me carry it at least to the stairs?"

Terri's face clears a bit. "I'm amazed that a strong man like you can't carry a little bench like that." She stalks over to the bench and lifts one side, surprisingly easily. "Come on, then."

Will walks over to the bench and almost picks it up, and then he drops his end and bolts into the bedroom with the crib as quick as he can, before Terri can even react. Before she can follow him, Will has slammed the door and locked it smartly. It'll take Terri at least a few minutes to find the key or pick the lock, and while she's doing that, Will can figure out what's going on.

It's supremely stupid, he realizes. He has no idea who's even in this room, let alone if they're safe to be around. It could be Terri has a crazed sex slave in here, ready to kill him. But he has to know who screamed . . . and while Terri beats on the door uselessly, yelling his name, Will walks slowly across the room and squats in front of the crib.

He can just see a figure underneath it. There's a strong smell of urine, and an almost metallic tang in the air – like blood.

Will can't see the figure's eyes. He can't tell if it's male or female, but he can see the figure's feet, the same ones that he saw retreating under the crib a few minutes ago. And they're unmistakeably female feet. It's a girl under there.

"Hey," he says in a quiet, calm voice. "I'm not here to hurt you. I'm just trying to figure out what's going on. Why did you scream?"

There's a silence, then a small, rusty female voice, blurred with a familiar nasal quality, answers him.

"I was a bad girl. Mommy was coming to punish me."

Will shifts, trying to see under the crib. "Why were you a bad girl?"

"I tried to run away." Now the voice is unmistakeably familiar . . . though Will can't place it. As his eyes adjust to the light, he can see long legs and a skinny torso, but no face. It takes him a minute to realize that the girl under the crib is hiding her face.

"Is Terri hurting you?" Will tries to keep his voice light and calm, but inwardly, he's shaking, partly with fear, and partly with dread. This is a lot more serious than he expected when he burst in here.

"Mommy loves me. She's only trying to keep me in line." The voice deadens, flattens. And suddenly, with a sickening jolt, Will realizes who it is under the crib at the same time as the girl takes her hands away from her face.

"Quinn Fabray?"

/~/

Terri beats on the door uselessly for a few moments until she realizes that this is getting her nowhere. Anyway, the winter light is fading in the house, and soon enough it's going to be pitch black and hard to see the lock since she took away the lights upstairs. Quinn had been crying about the dark or something stupid like that the other night, so she unscrewed all the lights to ensure Baby knew who was boss.

Terri hasn't had to use the key in a long time – Quinn knows the consequences of using the lock to her bedroom door, and anyway, Terri thought she'd made it so that the door couldn't be locked from the inside. Shit. And now she can't find the stupid thing.

Emptying out her jewellery box, she paws through the jewels and tangled necklace strings fruitlessly until she realizes that she put the key downstairs on the top of the fridge, to hide it in case Quinn ever got it in her head that she wanted to escape her room. Since the key works both on the inside and outside of the door, Terri figures she can't be too careful.

As she rushes downstairs, she hears Quinn begin to cry from the bedroom and Will's calming voice, and she realizes that the game is up. Now the task becomes keeping Will from leaving with Quinn. And Terri has no idea how she's going to barricade them in the house easily.

Her stomach begins to sink. This is not going to work out. She dashes back upstairs, the key in hand, but the door is already open, and Will stands at the top of the stairs, Quinn Fabray crumpled in his arms.

/~/

Quinn begins to cry at the sound of Will's voice, and Will tries to get a better look at her under the crib.

"Hey, Quinn. How about coming out of there? Let's get out of Terri's house. You don't have to stay here."

In truth, despite his calm voice, he wants to throw up. As she uncurls her body, he can see she's wearing a swollen, soaked diaper and some kind of threadbare T-shirt. Her hair appears matted and covered in some kind of substance, though he can't figure out what it is yet.

The darkness of the bruises on her body can be seen even in the dull light. She's painfully thin and moving oddly, stiffly, almost.

"Come on, sweetie," says Will, his voice soft now. "Come on out of there."

Quinn seems almost like a wild animal. Slowly, she slides out from under the crib, and as he watches, he can barely keep the horror off her face. Her eyes are huge and hollowed, and one of them appears to be blackened. Her face is dirty and tearstained, and her blonde hair is soaked in a foul-smelling dark substance that stinks like shit, though he can't be sure it is.

Her legs are stick-thin; the same with her arms. And that diaper . . . the stench is unbelievable. The smell of urine is almost burning his nostrils. As she comes completely into the light, she takes one look at his face and begins to cry harder.

"Oh, Quinn," he says. "Oh, sweetheart, what the fuck has she done to you?"

"It's okay," says Quinn, her voice oddly high and shaky. "It's okay, Mommy loves me. She hurts Baby because she loves her."

Will doesn't know what to say to that. He feels his throat rise in disgust, and at the same time, his eyes tear up. Beautiful, confident, fucked-up Quinn . . . she was always one of his favourites. And now she's this.

Instead he tries to focus on immediate matters. "How long have you had the diaper on, Quinn?"

Quinn's eyes roll back a little into her head, almost as if she's trying to find the answer there. Her dirty face concentrates, and then she gives her head a slight shake.

"I don't know. This morning, maybe?" A rational note has come into her voice. She's not completely lost.

"Okay. Well, let's try to get it off, okay? And find some clothes so that we can get out of here." Will pulls open a few of the drawers in the large matching dresser to the crib, but finds nothing in them.

"Mommy took my clothes away because I was being bad," says Quinn, moving almost crab-like across the floor. Her scabbed foot slips and she falls down, hard, on her sodden bottom. Her lower lip trembles.

"Can you walk, Quinn?"

Quinn could walk . . . as recently as yesterday, she remembers. But it hurts to stand now.

"I don't know. I don't know!"

Will approaches her slowly. "Shh. It's okay. Shh."

Quinn looks up at him and he can tell she barely recognizes him. Fear transfixes her face and Will realizes that getting her dressed or even dry is going to take more time than they have now.

He scoops her up, wet diaper, shit on her hair, horrible smells and all, and charges out of the bedroom to see Terri looking at them in fear from the bottom of the stairs.

"What the FUCK have you done to this girl?" Will's voice rises despite his resolve to keep calm, and Quinn curls a dirty hand around his collar and cries out.

"Oh, shut up," snaps Terri, and almost immediately, Quinn's whimper cuts off. She curls herself more tightly into Will's arms, and Will stares down at Terri.

"I should call the police on you. She's so badly beaten I'm not sure she can walk. And what the fuck is in her hair?"

"Mud. She fell halfway through the backyard when she tried to escape this morning. It's why her hands and face are dirty, too."

"And you've kept her here, imprisoned?" Will's voice is so incredulous that Terri almost feels a stab of shame.

"It didn't start out that way," she mutters, and Will's had enough.

"I don't care how it started out. I don't care what kind of sick intentions you had. We're getting out of here, now. And don't be surprised if you find the police at your door later tonight. Quinn's been abused at your hands . . . I'm not letting this go."

He thunders down the stairs, grabbing a throw blanket from on top of the couch as he passes by the living room. "I think you can spare her a blanket if nothing else."

"I'll get you for this, Will," Terri growls, and he just tosses his head in scorn.

"Shut up."

Will doesn't want to take Quinn out in the cold January weather without proper attire, but he's got no choice. Remote-starting his car, he places Quinn gently on the ground into a standing position and wraps the blanket around her tenderly.

"I know it's not much," he tells her, "but we'll go to the hospital and they'll give you warmer clothes."

Quinn doesn't say anything. Her hazel eyes just glitter with tears.

Terri has come and gone during this time, and now she tosses Quinn's backpack contemptuously at him. "Here. There's warmer clothes and diapers in here. She can't hold her bladder at all, so, she needs them." She watches him impassively as he shoulders the backpack and then starts to whine.

"Will, don't take her to the hospital. She's not really that seriously hurt. She's just bruised. They'll come out here . . . don't you have any love for me left?"

Will straightens, having wrapped Quinn up the best he can in the blanket, and stares at Terri in disbelief.

"No. I don't. And you just told me she can't even hold her bladder anymore. Yeah, she's not seriously hurt . . . Jesus."

He leaves, placing Quinn carefully into the front seat of his warming car, and looks back at Terri.

"If you're smart, you'll get a lawyer immediately. Because I'm going to try to press charges against you for this."

Getting swiftly into the car, he tosses the backpack into the backseat and pulls out of the driveway with a practiced sweep.

It's only then he realizes that he's holding Quinn's hand as tightly as he can.

/~/

Emma gets the call at about six PM. "Hello?"

"Hi, sweetie." Will sounds odd, almost like he's been crying. His voice is echoey, and Emma has trouble placing him at first.

"What's going on, Will? I expected you home after you went to drop the cheque at Terri's. Did you have trouble?"

"Kind of . . . listen, honey, can you come to St. Mary's Hospital? It's a long story, but I'm okay. Quinn Fabray isn't, though."

"Quinn Fabray?" Emma leans against the counter in the kitchen, her face a mask of confusion. "Why does she have anything to do with why you're late?"

"I'll explain on the way. Look, can you also stop at the store and pick up a package of adult diapers, size small, and some warm pajamas in the same size? Nothing fancy . . . it's just that she doesn't have much in the way of clothing."

"But diapers, Will?"

"Long story. Just please swing by the mall and then come here, okay? I love you."

Emma sounds completely unsure as she replies, "I love you, too," and hangs up the phone. But she gets her keys and does as Will asks. It must be serious.

/~/

Quinn is lying in a hospital bed when she wakes up. First of all, she can't really place where she is . . . and secondly, she can't really move. But she's warm, and dry, and she knows she's safe. Her eyes flutter open and closed as snatches of conversation make their way to her ears.

"Sick as a dog and beaten half to death . . ."

" . . . Chronic bladder infection, weak, no control . . ."

"Dehydrated, malnourished. Surprised she's doing as well as she is."

Prying open her eyes finally, Quinn focuses, licks her lips, turns her head to the side. There's Mr. Schuester, sitting with Miss Pillsbury. Are they married now? She never can remember life before Terri. What her old friends are doing now. Probably not lying immobile somewhere, anyway.

There's an IV snaking out of her arm, dripping clear fluid into her veins. She shifts, feeling her achy bones cradled by the softness of whatever bed she's in. Quinn wets her diaper, feels the familiar fear flood back, and begins to cry, which causes Miss Pillsbury to look up.

"Oh, Quinn, honey. It's okay." She comes over and sits gingerly beside Quinn on the bed. "Shh. You're safe now."

Mr. Schuester walks over and places a cool hand on her bruised cheek. "She's been through the wringer, poor thing."

Quinn grabs his hand, then, and holds it close to her cheek, almost as if she can't let go. All she knows is that Will is her rescuer . . . he took her away from Terri. Terri can't hurt her when he's around. Quinn shifts uncomfortably at the burning sensation on her nether regions. It hurts and yet . . . she doesn't want to be hurt. She cries out.

"Wet," she cries. "Don't hurt Baby."

Will just looks confused, and Emma looks slightly grossed out. "She, uh, needs to be changed, I think. Should I call the nurse?"

"It took them two rounds of sedation to get her calm enough to even wash her down after we brought her here. I'll try to change her. Maybe she trusts me more than the nurses."

Emma nods. "I think I'll step out for a few minutes."

Quinn, though in her rational mind, she understands that Will has no intention of hurting her, clamps her legs shut as he gently takes off her blanket. She's dressed in a hospital gown, and he quietly and slowly exposes her wet diaper as he slides it up to her stomach.

"Nobody's going to hurt you, Quinn, okay? I'm just going to change your diaper. You have a pretty serious rash . . . and a bladder infection. We need to keep you dry and clean."

Quinn just tenses her entire body up, waiting for Will to realize how bad she is for not relaxing for him. But she can't relax . . . not when Terri would punish her so badly for even having a wet diaper. Even though she could never help it, in the end. She tried and failed. Like everything else.

Will carefully removes Quinn's wet diaper, but when he tries to wipe her down, Quinn lets out a hoarse scream.

"Quinn. Shh. Come on, sweetie." This is all extremely awkward, and Will's only experience changing diapers is with Terri's sister's kids, but he can't leave Quinn wet and cold like before.

He manages to wipe Quinn down pretty thoroughly before she lets out a second scream. Hurriedly, he tapes up the new diaper and pulls down her gown as the nurses come in.

"Did her sedation wear off? Poor lamb. You should have let us do that, Mr. Schuester." One of the nurses takes the wet diaper from him and another one injects something into Quinn's exposed thigh. Immediately, Quinn's body slumps into relaxation, and her eyes close.

"Does she have to be sedated all the time?"

"Well, until she can heal a bit, yes. She's very traumatized, sir. I'm sure we'll know more from the police report later."

Emma comes back in, then, looking concerned. "Poor Quinn."

"Yes, poor Quinn," says Will. "I'm not going to let anything else happen to her."

Emma looks skeptical. "She has parents, Will, I'm sure they'll want to know what happened to her. Have you called them?"

"I don't have a number for her father, and her mother isn't picking up. I don't know if she even still lives in Lima."

Emma shrugs. "You're not thinking of taking her home, are you?"

Will looks bemused. "Well, what if I was?"

Emma laughs. "Oh, honey, we don't have the room, for one, and for two, she's going to need a lot of care. She's got no bladder control, she's malnourished, traumatized . . . I don't know if I can handle it."

Will is silent for a few moments. "Well, maybe I can. You wouldn't have to do anything."

Emma looks skeptical again. "You're going to play the knight in shining armour again?"

He looks defensive. "I can't just leave her here."

Emma sighs, but says nothing else, and Will gently moves a piece of hair from Quinn's forehead, stroking her head a little bit.

Maybe he is playing the knight in shining armour. But who could leave such a vulnerable girl as this alone?


	2. Chapter 2

Life fades in and out. She opens her eyes and counts the ceiling tiles. Four across and six down. Eight across and ten down. Every day there are more and more ceiling tiles as she's awake for longer periods of time.

They're weaning her off the 24/7 sedation. At first, life was a grey pillow of nothingness. An IV feeds her. Someone comes to change her diapers every so often. Her bladder is shot, they say to Mr. Schuester – Will – as he stands beside her bed, holding her hand. She's never going to be able to regain full function after chronic UTIs and the damage Terri did. Damage? Yes, there's damage there, she supposes.

Can't really remember right now, though.

But this isn't so bad. Sometimes she just studies Will in the half-light as he slumps over her bed, his head resting on his hands. Other times, Ms. Pillsbury is there, too, and she's stroking Quinn's forehead with her cool hands. They tell her they're going to take her home.

Home.

Is home back with Terri? Because she feels a stab of old, deep, stale alarm at that. She can't really remember why, but Terri is bad. She curls herself into a ball, and she finds her thumb in her mouth. Quinn doesn't remember when she started sucking her thumb again. She does know that Will tried to get the hospital to give her a pacifier, but they refused.

She also knows that sometimes she cries for reasons she can't really discern. And she hasn't talked in a while, even when the police came to ask what happened. They wanted to know what Terri did.

Even if Quinn did know, how could she even tell them? She's forbidden to speak unless spoken to. She's forbidden to tell family secrets.

And so she lies in her hospital bed in her grey cloud of nothingness and counts ceiling tiles.

Four down, six across. Eight down, ten across.

One by one by one.

And she drifts . . .

/~/

Emma stands in the spare room of the apartment she shares with Will, and studies it critically. It's a perfectly fine room as it is. Once Will distastefully cleared Terri's craft stuff out of it, he bought a futon and let Emma decorate it as she wanted. It's charming, with an owl motif and soft, pastel colours. Perfect for a girl of Quinn's age, or at least, that's what she told Will.

He keeps talking about cribs and changing tables and baby things, though.

"That's what she had at Terri's," he explains patiently. "She's been treated like a baby for the past three and a half months, Em. She thinks she is a baby, one that needs to be punished. She won't be able to just snap out of it. Already she has certain behaviours her doctors are concerned about."

"Isn't that why we should try to return her to a normal life as soon as possible, though, Will?" Emma runs a hand through her red curls and sighs. "I wouldn't think she'd want any memory of being at Terri's and the stuff that went on there."

"No . . . I don't think so. The nurses say that without sedation, she screams and shakes, but sometimes they can get her to stop by wrapping her in a blanket. She sucks at anything she can get her hands on. They caught her trying to suck on a spoon yesterday, but yet, they won't let me give her a pacifier." Will sighs. "I think we need to treat her like she is a baby . . . because she essentially is starting from scratch with everything. She's traumatized as hell."

Emma throws up her hands. "Well, you apparently know best, so . . . I didn't even really want her here, Will."

Will kisses the side of her neck, just below her ear, and she sighs and melts into his arms.

"I know you didn't. And it's not going to be forever. But she can't live by herself and I'm not letting her go to one of those group homes for disturbed adults. She needs people around her that she knows and that will care for her. And I still can't reach her mother. I have no idea where she is."

"What about school?"

"She failed her first semester midterms. I'm sure she could go back when she's stable enough. It's certainly salvageable . . . she'd have to write some essays, prove she could handle it again, but it's not off the table for her." Will looks hopeful. "She could have a normal life again."

Emma pulls back from his arms and sighs. "Where do you even get an adult-sized crib? She's not a tiny girl. She won't fit in a, well, baby crib. Or on a baby change table."

Will smiles. "It's okay. I've done some research. It won't be hard to set her up in here."

Emma frowns. "Can I at least leave the owl stuff up? I mean, owls aren't traumatizing, right?"

Will laughs and holds her closer. "You can decorate however you want. Let's just try to get Quinn home."

/~/

Quinn is sitting up in bed when Will comes in that evening. She's staring at the wall, raptly sucking on her thumb. Her blonde hair, which Terri had chopped to all different lengths, has grown out a bit in the three weeks she'd been in the hospital, healing from all her injuries. The nurses have tied the top part back with a pink ribbon, and the pair of soft flannel pajamas she's wearing fit her better now that she's filled out a little from the better nutrition.

But Quinn still won't speak unless she's spoken to. And when she speaks, it's odd, strange sentences. She also can't tell anyone her name, nor will she attempt to walk, even though she goes to physiotherapy every day.

"Hi, Quinn," Will greets her, and she turns her head, her vacant hazel eyes sharpening with a bit of recognition. She will allow Will to sit next to her on the bed, and sometimes hold her hand, but when he attempts to give her a hug or take care of her in any way without sedation, she screams and draws back from him like a wild animal.

He doesn't take it personally. She does this to everyone.

"How's your day been? Did you play with the dollies again?" Will moves his hand slowly, carefully, and gently pushes a lock of hair from Quinn's face.

Quinn regards him with solemn eyes. "Dollies."

"Yes, they have a lot of pretty dollies in the toy room, don't they?" Quinn is enrolled in play-based therapy, given to severely mentally disturbed adults. It's meant to relax her, to invite behaviours that will help therapists determine how to treat her. But Quinn doesn't really play unless someone helps her. She prefers to sit and stare at the wall.

"Baby play. Dollies are pretty." Quinn's voice is almost mechanical. She doesn't sound at all like Will remembers her sounding. Her singing voice is the same, though. She sings all the time, and always the same song.

"Are you going to Scarborough Fair?" she sings, looking at Will intently. She responds best when he sings with her. She will sometimes place her hands on his face, staring into his eyes, and afterwards, he can sometimes get her to talk rationally. He knows a little bit about what happened to her now.

"Parsley, sage, rosemary and thyme," he sings back, and her face crumples. She plugs her poor battered thumb back into her mouth, and Will longs to hold her in his arms, to try to rock her and comfort her. But he's tried that. She just stiffens and cries harder, louder.

From what he's heard, it was because Terri would pretend to comfort her, and then punch her in the face.

He holds her other hand, tracing her long fingers, gently rubbing the back of it, until she calms down from the combined sucking and the little comfort he can give her.

How can he let her go to a home where they wouldn't understand how to calm her down?

Slowly and carefully, he puts a hand on her hair, stroking its smoothness, tidying a few loose and wild strands that have come out of her ribbon. She stiffens initially, but after a moment, she leans her head against his hand, like a cat would.

"Oh, Quinn. No one's ever going to hurt you again. You're safe now."

"Baby go home," she hiccups around her thumb, and Will nods.

"I'm going to take you home soon. To my home, not to Terri's. You don't ever have to see Terri again."

She stares at him for a moment, and the faraway, scared expression in her eyes sharpens to rationality. "I want to go home with you, Will. I want to go home right now."

Will just stares at her in dismay. She's not ready to go home yet. The doctors say she won't be ready for at least another two weeks. She's still malnourished. She won't attempt to walk. She won't talk unless she's spoken to, and only in certain situations. She uses stimming behaviour to calm herself, and she's still on enough sedation to choke a horse.

Instead of trying to explain this, he simply says, "We're going to make a special room just for you. Emma and I are making a space where you will be safe. And when it's all ready, I'll take you home."

Quinn's hand shoots out quickly, almost so quickly he can't anticipate it, and he startles badly as she grabs his hand.

"I want to go home now, Will. Right now. Right NOW!" Her voice begins to rise and her body begins to tremble. He can see her knuckles turning white as she grips his hand so hard he starts to lose feeling in it.

"Quinn," he tries to call her back. "Quinn. No one's going to hurt you here, sweetheart. They're trying to help you. No one can get you here. You're safe."

He recognizes the sign of her sedation wearing off, but instead of paging the nurse, Will feels determined. He will get Quinn to calm down without needing to be injected. She needs to learn to rationalize, to relax in response to comfort.

Gently, he places his other hand, the hand she isn't squeezing to death, on her shoulder. He can feel the shaking all the way up to his own shoulder. He smells the sharp scent of urine and realizes that Quinn has wet herself and needs to be changed, as well.

"Quinn. Sweetheart, can you listen to me? Can you focus on me, and listen?"

Her wandering eyes meet his. Her lips, mouthing numbers as if she's counting, still. For one second, she's completely focused on Will.

"You're safe. You're in the hospital. Terri can't come in here. You'll never see Terri again. I'm going to keep you safe, but you have to get better before you can come home. But I'm right here. I'm not going to leave you in here by yourself."

Quinn's lips move, just once, and suddenly she leans forward, letting go of his hand. She leans into Will's chest, and after a minute, he feels her arms go around him and her head go down on his shoulder. And very carefully, he puts his arms around her, holding her thin body close to his, rocking her back and forth gently.

"You're okay, sweetie. You're okay. I'm right here."

He can feel her tears on his neck, and he strokes her hair and drops a kiss on her head. This is a huge breakthrough for Quinn. She's never done this before.

But she pulls away a little and through her tears and the huge pout on her face, she cries pitifully, "Baby wet! Wet . . . hurts. Hurting Baby, don't hurt!"

They still haven't been able to figure out why, when Quinn is wet, she cries and asks people not to hurt her. They can only imagine Terri must have done horrible things to her when changing wet diapers, but since Quinn won't talk, no one knows what her triggers are. The bladder infection and diaper rash explained the "hurt" for a while, but her rash is gone now and though her bladder infection is fairly chronic, the doctors assure Will it's not debilitating and the medication Quinn is on is clearing it up.

Will gently disentangles Quinn's arms so that he has hands free to change her, but this is a mistake. Quinn freezes and begins to scream.

"Oh, Quinn," he breathes in exasperation, and punches the call button with his finger a little more violently than usual. He was so, so close.

Quinn's regular nurse comes in and tsks as she sees that Will's getting out fresh wipes and a clean diaper. "Mr. Schuester. You're really supposed to leave that task up to us. We need to track her output."

"I was going to save it for you," he quips, but gets a glare in return as the nurse expertly administers an injection of sedative and Quinn slumps from a sitting position to a tossed-ragdoll position on her pillows. Will hates to see this, so after squeezing an unresponsive Quinn's hand once more, he leaves and calls Emma.

"How's she doing?" asks Emma, sounding like she's washing the dishes for the fifth time that day. Emma's mostly dealing with her OCD, but the new stress of dealing with Quinn and with Will's insistence that Quinn live with them has ramped it up a bit. He's caught her taking more Ativan than usual. He feels bad, but Emma can take care of herself.

"She let me hold her today. Of course, she wet her pants and then flipped out again, but it was a start."

"She's not going to ever get over what Terri did to her, is she?" The question is asked lightly, almost rhetorically, but causes Will to pause. He fiddles with the loose threads in the couch outside of Quinn's room and sighs.

"I don't know, honey. I don't know if she'll ever be better."

"Will . . ."

"Em. Come on."

"No, you come on. This is a huge undertaking, okay? We're giving up vacations, free time, even your job because you took a leave of absence for this . . ."

"Emma."

"Not to mention, you lied and told Figgins it was a cousin. Because you know the ramifications of this, Will!"

"I just don't think she's going to be this unstable forever. She's going to get to a place where she can go back to school, where she doesn't need to be watched all the time. And I can't just leave her in a world that doesn't have time for her, Emma. You agreed to this."

"I just didn't think it was going to be long-term. Or she was going to be this damaged."

"I'm just asking you to try. Okay? Can you just try, for me?" Will's voice is pleading, and he simultaneously hates himself and hates Emma for pushing back on this when Quinn has now attached to him as the only person in the world who can save her life.

"I already said I would try." There are tears in her voice, and Will feels like an asshole.

"I know this is hard on you, sweetheart. But it's going to be easier when she's more stable and home with us."

"I hope so, Will. And I can't . . . you know, deal with her bladder thing. She's 19 years old, I can't change her diaper." Emma sounds disgusted, now, and Will can't exactly blame her.

"Hopefully her physiotherapy will get her to a place where we don't need to change her, where she can take care of herself."

"Okay. Well, come home soon. Give Quinn my love."

"I will. Love you."

"I love you, too. Bye."

Will stares at the wall for a second after hanging up and then throws his phone violently onto the couch. Fuck, fuck, why is this so hard?

/~/

Quinn drifts in her grey world and dreams. Talking about owls, or something? Was that the last conversation she had with Will? Something about a room full of owls. She hopes they aren't real owls.

She craves arms around her, arms that don't hurt, that don't pinch and bruise and cut. Arms that don't hug and then turn on her a second later. Just to be held closely is all Quinn wants.

Why can't the grey world be the real world? Why can't it be easier to exist like this, broken and needing?

And then she remembers. There's Will. Like the father she never got to have, he's there all the time. He's trying. Why can't she try back?

Why is the only rationality here where everything makes sense?

"I want to go home . . ." she mutters, and Will, sitting beside her bed, staring at the IV dripping into her arm, straightens and stares at her, watching her closed eyes moving under her eyelids.

He takes her hand.

"We're going to go home soon, sweetheart. We're going home."


	3. Chapter 3

Today's the day, Quinn is told, as the nurse comes in to change her diaper and to give her a customary sponge bath. They'd tried showering her, but she can't take the harsh spray. Through therapy, things are starting to come back to her. Like how Terri would beat her and then shove her under a freezing cold shower for up to an hour at a time, watching her shiver, turn blue, and scream.

Terri . . . Quinn still hopes that home doesn't mean needing to go back there eventually. She never wants to go back there.

She likes it now when Will comes to visit. Will, who has warm arms and a reassuring smile and tells her of all the things she's coming home to. A nice room with owls in it – not real owls, she's found out now – and a soft crib and lots of cuddles. He likes to hold her on his lap and talk about how they'll find her some fun toys to play with, watch her favourite movies, and if she's hungry, he'll help her eat good, nourishing food that will allow her to feel better.

She doesn't really care what he says, really. She just wants to listen to him and be held without condition and without pain.

Today's the day. Today, Quinn gets to go home.

/~/

Will picks up his keys and looks in on Emma, who is nervously smoothing the covers on Quinn's crib. She has no idea where Will found it, but it's the size of a twin bed with the customary bars around it. The entire side folds down to be able to get Quinn in and out, and Will let Emma choose some cute bedding that matches the owl-themed room. The dresser drawers are stocked with diapers, regular, comfortable adult clothes and some baby clothes in adult sizes, including a few one-piece pajamas that Will found on Etsy.

They're ready. Now they just need Quinn.

Will smiles at Emma tweaking the last touches to Quinn's room. "It looks great, honey."

"I just hope Quinn likes it," says Emma, her voice nervous and a bit stammering, and Will comes over to give her a warm hug.

"She's going to love it. You know she will."

"Will . . . how long is she going to stay here? I keep asking, and you keep avoiding the question. I just need to know how long we're going to have to deal with her like this." Emma can't really look Will in the eye. She lowers her gaze and speaks to his middle shirt button.

Will sighs. "I avoid it because I just don't know. I have no idea. I don't know if she's ever going to be totally better, Em."

"Well, shouldn't you start looking into alternative places for her? I don't really want this to be long-term. You asked Figgins for a month off to get her used to living here, but then we're going to have to go back to work, both of us, and she's going to have to go to school or something. Or we'll have to find someone to look after her during the daytime."

Will just shrugs. "I hope by that time, we'll at least hear from her mother, or someone that's related to her."

"Well, I know one of your concerns is that Terri will find her again in an assisted living facility," says Emma tentatively.

"Well, yeah. That was Quinn's last known address. I'm sure that Terri could pose as her mother or something – is Quinn even in a stage where she could deny it? I don't know what she'd do if she saw Terri again."

Emma just looks distressed, and Will rubs his hands up and down her arms. "We'll figure it out, babe. Stop worrying about it right now. We need to get her to a place where she can be at least somewhat functional. She can barely walk right now . . . she's been in the hospital for two months and she's only now starting to talk and recover. Another month in a supportive environment may be what she needs to get back to herself."

Emma tries to smile. "Well, go and bring her home," she says, trying for levity, but falling flat. Will tries to smile, but they both end up with drawn faces as he walks out to the car.

He really hopes that by doing this for Quinn, he's not going to ruin the relationship he has with Emma.

Only time will tell.

/~/

The nurses have Quinn ready in an outfit that Will brought for her a few days ago. She's wearing a pair of black yoga pants and a very soft pink three-quarter-sleeve shirt. Her hair is pulled back into a ponytail and she's wearing a pair of black and white running shoes. She looks almost normal, if not for the vacant expression on her face and the fact that she's sucking raptly on the pacifier that the hospital finally allowed Will to bring her.

Will comes quietly into Quinn's room and smiles at the nurse who's just putting the last of Quinn's things into a small bag. He kneels in front of Quinn and looks up into her staring hazel eyes. "Quinn?"

At the sound of her name, Quinn's gaze sharpens and she looks down at Will, who smiles encouragingly. After a moment, she smiles, a ghost of a smile.

"Hi, Will."

"Hi. Are you ready to come home?"

Quinn doesn't actually know. The hospital is so safe, and everyone is so kind, with the exception of an impatient nurse who scared her by moving too fast and being too rough. She'd set Quinn's recovery back a few days and Will had been very angry, yelling at the head nurse in front of the entire nurse's station. Yeah. Not his best moment.

But being with Will all the time might be nice. It's definitely better than the hours she spends staring at ceiling tiles.

"I think so." Her voice is soft. She can't really raise it above a certain volume and pitch – she's afraid that when she does, she'll be yelled at for being too noisy. And then her eyes fill with tears.

"What's wrong, sweetie?" Will takes one of Quinn's cold hands and rubs it a little bit. "Do you need something?"

"I'm scared," is what Quinn wants to say, but instead she finds herself holding the crotch of her pants. Will looks down.

"Did you wet your pants?"

Did she? Why is everything so weird here?

Will gently checks her. She's still dry. She's just frightened, as is evidenced by the way she suddenly clings to his neck. The nurses watches them both, a concerned look on her face.

Will stands up slowly, disentangling Quinn's arms, and then pulls up a chair to sit beside her. "We have lots of time, sweetheart. Lots of time. Whenever you're ready."

The issue is, Quinn doesn't ever feel ready for anything. The issue is, she's perpetually scared of everything.

Will slowly moves forward and places his hands on Quinn's knee. "Do you want to talk about what we're going to do?"

Quinn finds herself focusing on Will's face. On his green eyes, which are so sincere and intense, never leaving her gaze. On the way that he talks slowly, so that she gets every word. It's odd, but she could swear she's seen him act this way before, and not towards her. Maybe it was to Terri. God knows that woman was insane.

"What are we going to do?" she whispers, her nasally voice blurring her words as usual. The doctors thought her deviated septum was caused by a broken nose, but Will had assured them that Quinn had always had it, as long as he could remember. Terri probably had broken her nose. Well, that was a problem for another day.

"We're going to put you into a wheelchair and you're going to go for a little ride. Down the hall and down into the elevator. Remember the elevator when we went for a walk the other day?"

He'd tried to practice with her. He'd tried to get her used to the idea of leaving, of not lying in a hospital bed day after day. But she's almost paralyzed with fear now, and it's so goddamn frustrating. Why is she not really improving at all?

Will strives for calm and feels a slight satisfaction when Quinn nods at his words.

"Okay. So when we go down the elevator, we're going to go outside to the car."

"Outside?" she murmurs, her voice rising a little at the question mark. The nurse comes to stand beside them.

"If you need to sedate her to get her out of here, we can do that." The nurse's voice is a little too loud, a little too strident, and Quinn moves a little too quickly into Will's arms, clinging to him as if for dear life.

"Hey." Will looks down at the blonde girl suddenly in his lap and smiles a little. "You can move pretty fast when you want to, can't you, sweetie?" His voice makes the question more into a statement, and he holds her close to him while he answers the nurse.

"Maybe that'd be good. Not enough to knock her out, just enough to . . . calm her down. I thought she'd be less anxious than this."

"It's a big step," says the nurse, Quinn's regular one. "It's a big step to leave the psych unit and go back into the real world. She's doing pretty well, but you're also helping her out a lot. She's following you better than she's done in the past."

Will cuddles Quinn for a few moments, knowing she's going to cry when the needle comes out. She hates needles and has fought almost every single one of them since she got here, but he realizes quickly that she needs the sedative, otherwise they're never going to get her out of here, and Medicaid is kicking her out tomorrow.

The nurse knows enough to hide the needle from Quinn until the last minute, but as Will gently pushes up her sleeve, she suddenly clues into what's happening and drops to the floor, where she attempts to crawl under the hospital bed.

Jesus. Nothing is easy. Will swears under his breath and catches her just before she can get under there. "Come on, Quinn, it's only a little prick. Shh. Come on, sweetie."

Quinn bursts into tears as Will holds her still and the nurse injects just enough sedative to make her floppy. She's still crying when the sedative takes effect, but she allows Will to lift her and place her in the waiting wheelchair. She's still conscious, but her eyes are fluttering and he knows she'll be asleep in the car on the 20 minute drive home.

Will wheels Quinn out of the room, holding her small bag full of the few things she came to the hospital with, including the threadbare T-shirt he found her in, a stuffed dog he bought her from the hospital gift shop, her two pairs of pajamas Emma bought for her and a package of pacifiers. He shakes the nurse's hand at the door and thanks her.

"I don't know that we won't back here in a few days," says Will, already looking weary, and she looks sympathetic.

"If you keep administering her medicine, she'll keep fairly even and probably won't flip out too much. You know she's going to have to undergo daily therapy anyway, and I assume you've set that up to happen in your home."

Will nods. Quinn's state-issued insurance allows for daily therapy for about three weeks. He hopes that will be enough. He's paying for all her medicines without much subsidization – and that's another thing he and Emma have fought about. Quinn must have some money, but without her permission, no one can access her bank account to figure out how much she has, and he can't get a hold of either of her parents.

Quinn is nodding off in her chair, and Will signs her discharge papers, feeling around beside Quinn's legs to find her dropped pacifier while she makes sucking noises with her mouth. He finally finds it and plugs it in while he attempts to juggle three different forms and a bag of her medication. Fifteen minutes later, he's wheeling a sleeping Quinn out to the car with two male nurses beside him to help with the transfer.

Will had considered an adult carseat for Quinn, but then threw the idea aside when he realized that she probably wouldn't need it long and anyway, he didn't think she'd fight getting into the car too much. He's proved right when he doesn't even need the male nurses' help – he's able to fit Quinn into the car without much trouble at all. She only wakes up slightly, but is back to sleep the minute he buckles her seatbelt. Quinn leans against the window, pacifier loose in her mouth, and after covering her with a blanket, Will starts the car to warm it up in the cold February air.

On the outside, with her pacifier dropped into her lap, she looks like any other 19-year-old girl. But he knows that inside, she's a scared little girl crying out for comfort. He just hopes he can give it to her.

The male nurses load the borrowed wheelchair into the back of the car and Will pulls away from the hospital full of anxiety, fear and a little bit of excitement. After all, Quinn is coming home . . . and that's progress.

/~/

Emma is attempting to read a book for the fifth time when she hears Will's key in the door. She flies to the door to open it for him and is slightly surprised when he wheels in a sleeping Quinn and gives Emma a quick kiss.

"Why is she in a wheelchair?"

"She's pretty sedated. We had some trouble leaving the hospital," Will replies, shucking off his coat and hanging it in the closet. He pushes Quinn further into the front hallway and starts to take off his shoes.

"What do you mean?" asks Emma, pushing Quinn into the living room and coming back into the foyer to look at Will.

"She got a little freaked out. I think transitions are going to be hard for her. The hospital was a safe place."

"Well, she's home now," says Emma, sounding unconvinced. "I was hoping she'd be able to walk in."

"She's not going to be able to for a little while. I don't think it's because she can't, I think it's because she won't," replies Will, coming over to Emma and taking her in his arms. He cuddles her tightly against him and Emma starts to feel a little bit better. They'll do this together.

Emma makes a small moue with her mouth at the wet tracks on the hallway floor, but they can't really do anything else, because Quinn is stirring in her chair.

Will immediately flies to her side, positioning himself so that when she wakes up, she'll see him first. She flutters her eyes open and closed for a while, a side effect of the sedative, until she finally opens them and blearily looks around. Her hands pick at the blanket over her lap and then she focuses on Will.

"Hi," she whispers.

"Hi. We're at home now, sweetie. That's where you are. In my home. And Emma's here, too." Will beckons to Emma, who comes around from behind Quinn and smiles.

"Hi, Quinn."

Quinn looks at Emma for a small period of time before she attempts a smile. She knows Emma. Ms. Pillsbury. "Hi, Ms. Pillsbury."

"Just call me Emma while we're here, sweetie." Emma gently brushes a wisp of hair off of Quinn's forehead and is secretly pleased when Quinn doesn't move away in horror, like she did the last time Emma attempted to approach her in any way.

"Do you feel like getting out of your chair, Quinn?" Will's voice pulls her back and Quinn looks at Will. Does she want to get out? Is there a point? She's so tired . . .

"Sleepy," she says, and Will nods.

"I think you need a proper nap. She looks exhausted," he says to Emma, who nods.

"Well, her room's all ready. Quinn, do you want to try walking to your room?"

Quinn looks down at her legs and her lower lip begins to tremble. It seems like so much work. And where is her room? Are they just going to leave her in there?

"I can't," she whispers, and Will rubs the top of her legs.

"It's okay, sweetheart. I'll help you get there. Don't cry."

Quinn raises her arms, and Will lifts her to her feet before scooping her up in his arms. As light as Quinn is, this is going to take some time to get used to carrying her around. His back groans in response to Quinn's weight.

Emma folds the blanket that's fallen to the floor, feeling a little lame and unhelpful, and then trails Quinn and Will to the spare room, now Quinn's room.

Quinn looks around, her head still on Will's shoulder, and then smiles genuinely for the first time. "Owls," she says, sounding pleased.

Emma smiles tentatively at that. "Yes, owls. Do you like the owls, Quinn?"

"I like the owls." Quinn is working on speaking in sentences, like her therapist is trying to teach her. That she doesn't have to be in Baby mode all the time, like Terri had brainwashed her to think. "Thank you."

"And here's your bed," says Will, putting Quinn down in the crib. The side is down, so she can sit on the side of it like any normal bed. Quinn's a little apprehensive, but it's not like the crib Terri had for her. This one is nicer, with soft blankets instead of a ragged sheet.

"It's pretty," she says, and then yawns widely. Will kneels and takes off Quinn's shoes. After a minute, Emma comes up and removes the elastic from Quinn's ponytail. She acts a little scared, as if she expects Quinn to lash out at her.

Well, it's not that weird. Quinn would have a week ago.

Everything's going fine until Quinn feels the familiar feeling of warm wetness in her diaper. It's weird that she has no control at all. It's mostly that feeling that makes her hold herself and start to cry.

Emma looks uncomfortable. "I think she's wet."

Will nods. "I expected it; it's been awhile since she was changed. I'll change her and then she can have a nap."

His familiar calm voice and words make Quinn calm down, though she sucks on her thumb until Emma gently pulls it out and puts her pacifier back in. She's sucked her thumb raw, and Emma makes a face as she takes a Kleenex to wipe Quinn's hand off. These fluids . . . she's not sure she can get used to it.

Quinn's eyes follow Emma's movement and register the look on the older woman's face, and the familiar frightened expression settles back on her features. But due to the sedative and Will distracting her by telling her about a story he's going to read her, she's able to turn her head away from Emma to focus on Will as he changes her diaper.

Her rash is almost nonexistent now – it'd been fairly chronic. It still hurts a little when she pees, but nothing like it did. The stitches from the surgery she had to fix the damage to her genitals and bladder came out the other day, and she can't really feel much pain now. Nevertheless, it still makes her cry to have her diaper changed, and after a moment of trying to focus on Will, Quinn lets out a big sigh and bursts into tears.

"Oh, sweetie. We're almost done." Will rubs Quinn's stomach, which sometimes makes her calm down. It works a little bit now, but she still sniffles around her pacifier and it takes some holding and rocking in Will's arms to get her totally calm again. While this happens, Emma quietly draws the blinds and puts on the little fairy nightlight she picked up at the store the other day. It casts a warm, sweet glow into the room and Quinn starts to feel her eyes get heavy again.

"Emma, can you go and grab one of the bottles from the fridge? She hasn't had anything to drink in a little while, and I don't want her headaches to come back." Will directs Emma, and Emma nods and goes to the kitchen.

While warming the bottle in the microwave, she reflects on her life now. She's never sure she wanted children, and now she has a teenager who acts like a baby. She's not sure she likes this at all.

Returning to Quinn's room, she gives Will the bottle, and Quinn sucks raptly at it for a while until her eyes close. She's completely relaxed in Will's arms, a lot better than she was even a week ago, when she was still wary about anyone holding her. She falls asleep and Will smiles.

"At least she still needs a lot of naps. Gives us a break, anyway." He lowers her into bed, covers her up, and then raises the side of the crib. It clicks into place, which startles Quinn a little, but after Will rubs her stomach again, she drifts away.

Will and Emma return to the living room to sit down and have some much-needed coffee. Will notices Emma is reacting defensively to most of what he's saying, and he finally puts down his coffee cup to take her hands.

"Sweetheart, if this is really bothering you . . ."

"There's nothing we can do now, Will," she says bluntly. "It's done. She's here. I'll get used to it."

Will looks upset, but says nothing else, and he picks up a novel from the side table after a moment. Emma picks up her book, and they read in silence for about an hour.

After a minute of dithering, Will rises. "I'm going to run out to the store. I wanted to get some more baby food for Quinn."

"Why can't she eat regular food?" Emma looks up from her book. "I was going to make dinner for all of us."

"She isn't handling it well. Her stomach doesn't seem to agree with it. I guess Terri had her on an all-liquid diet for a while. She hasn't eaten solid food in about four months, and when they gave her some purees, she seemed to tolerate them better than the solid stuff she threw up the other day."

This has the effect he knew it would on Emma, whose face drains of colour. "Well, whatever you think," she replies quickly, and Will inwardly smiles. He feels a little bad, but this constant sulky resistance to Quinn and everything to do with her is getting old.

"Anyway, she'll probably sleep for another hour. I'll be back by then. Call me if she wakes up and you need help."

Emma sincerely hopes Quinn does not wake up at all. "Okay. Love you." She raises her cheek for a kiss, and Will pecks her, feeling a little hurt. They never used to be so . . . old-married-couple.

After Will leaves, Emma continues to read her book for another half hour until she gets bored. She decides to check on Quinn, having heard nothing from the monitor in a while. Usually Quinn snores, due to her nasal issues, but Emma hasn't heard even snoring for some time.

Tiptoeing down the hall, Emma again reflects on how weird this is before pushing Quinn's door open gently.

The girl is curled on her side, sweetly sucking on her thumb, her pacifier having fallen through the bars of her crib onto the floor. She's fast asleep and looks peaceful. Only . . . the stench from the crib is overwhelming, and Emma claps her hand over her mouth and nose, stifling a cry of disgust.

Will didn't tell her that Quinn was still, well, POOPING in her pants. At all. Emma had thought that Quinn would at least be able to tell them when she needed to have a bowel movement!

She stumbles backwards out of the room, but the damage has been done. Quinn's eyes open and after a moment of staring at the ceiling, she raises her head and takes stock of the darkened room before Emma spots Quinn's hands going down to her diaper.

Then it all falls apart, little by little.

Quinn's face turns from calm to horrified. She begins to whimper softly at first, her hands scrabbling at her pants, until she realizes that no one is coming to help her. Her voice rises from a soft whimper to almost a scream.

Emma stands paralyzed in the doorway, feeling absolutely helpless. She can't touch Quinn like that . . . she can't help her the way she needs to be helped.

Quinn continues to scream, and then turns, kneeling, to face the door, where Emma is standing, unable to move. Quinn grabs the side of her crib and begins to plead.

"Help Baby, Mommy. Messy! Help Baby . . . HELP!"

Emma bursts into tears. This is awful . . . watching Quinn's teary, snotty face, smelling the awful stench of shit, and being unable to do anything at all. And worse, Quinn seems to see her as Terri, standing there, watching her suffer.

Just then, she hears the front door open and shut and her legs buckle as she starts to call Will's name. "Will! Will, come here. Will!"

She hears running footsteps and suddenly Will's hands are on her shoulders, Will is standing in front of her. She almost fastens her arms around his waist before he's past her and into Quinn's room, reaching for the poor girl in the crib.

"Hi, Quinn. Hi, sweetheart. You woke up, didn't you? Shh. It's okay. Just a messy diaper. That's okay, we're going to clean you up right now. Shhhh. No more screaming. It's okay. I'm right here."

And it's Quinn's hands that are fastening around Will's neck, her messy face pressing into Will's shoulder, and after a moment in which her screams are muffled against Will's shirt, she starts to slowly calm down, her screams and pleas for help slowing down to simple sobbing and then to whimpering.

Will turns to Emma and motions for her to turn on the light in Quinn's room. Like a person in a dream, she manages to do so, her hand shaking.

"Emma, I need you to start a bath for Quinn so that I can clean her up. I think her diaper leaked, so why don't you start a load of laundry, too?"

Emma feels her own calm returning at the simple instructions, and she's able to focus on Will, who is sitting in the rocker, holding Quinn close to him with no regard for how disgusting she is.

"What happened?" she manages to say, and Will looks down at Quinn, whose wide, scared eyes are roving around the room. At least she's quiet now.

"She's on a lot of antibiotics and I think she had some diarrhea. It's okay. It's easily cleaned up. Can you go do the things I asked you, please?"

Emma turns and goes to the bathroom, where she starts to run a bath. Like a person in a dream, she tests the temperature, dumps in bubble bath, puts two towels on the towel rack that warms towels, something Terri had put in and that Emma was secretly glad for.

In Quinn's room, Will strips the shaking girl down, moving as slowly as he can. He opens the window a little once he's gotten Quinn naked and wrapped in a towel to minimize the mess and carries her into the bathroom.

Emma is waiting by the tub, and she helps Will settle Quinn into the water. But it's too fast, too much, and in another moment, Quinn's screams and splashing are filling the bathroom with water, bubbles and noise.

Emma claps her hands over her ears and rushes from the room. It's too much. She can't do this.

Will is about to call after Emma when he realizes that it really just doesn't matter. She's going to get in the way, and Quinn is already trying to climb out of the tub and get under whatever she can. Will could have used the help to hold Quinn down, but as it is, he manages to get her washed off and smelling at least somewhat better before immobilizing her in a towel and carrying her back into her bedroom.

Quinn is like a wildcat. She scratches, fights, and screams until he finally lets her go. She dashes, naked, under her crib and begins to cry, rocking back and forth as she wedges herself in the furthest corner from Will. Getting her out of there is going to be a blast, thinks Will wearily as he spreads out her diaper and a pair of pajamas. At least the room smells somewhat better.

After a few minutes in which he allows Quinn to calm down to whimpering, he kneels by the crib and speaks slowly and calmly, just like Quinn is used to.

"Hey, sweet. How about you come out of there and get dressed? It's okay. All the messy stuff is cleaned up and we're going to go and eat some dinner now."

He sees her eyes catching the light from under the crib and she crawls to the very edge to look in his eyes. "Food?"

"Yeah. I know you've got to be hungry. How about you come on out?" He holds open his arms, and after a minute, she creeps out from under the crib. Thankfully, due to Emma's obsessive cleaning, she's not dirty at all since there's no dirt under there.

"Hi." He smiles at her, and then she tentatively smiles back.

"Hi. Hungry."

"Who is hungry?" he asks her as he gently pulls her into his arms and wraps her back in her towel, holding her close for a moment.

"I'm hungry. Are we going to have dinner soon?" Her voice sounds almost normal, and Will takes the opportunity to lay her gently down on the carpet, where he quickly diapers her and then slowly threads her arms through her one-piece pajamas. They're white with coloured polka-dots on them, and Quinn giggles as Will tickles her tummy before zipping her into them.

"Feel better?" he asks her as he helps her to a sitting position. She nods and then turns into a crawling position.

"Hey, Quinn, why don't you try to walk, sweetie?"

She considers that. It seems too hard, so she just shakes her head and crawls down the hall to where she sees Emma standing against the counter in the kitchen, her shoulders shaking.

Will picks up the mess from the diaper changing and the bath, and then follows Quinn down the hall. He stops right behind her when he spots Emma.

"Oh, Em." His voice is sad and sweet, and she looks up and then looks horrified that Quinn is seeing her upset. But Quinn, instead of flipping out, just looks curious.

"Is Emma sad?" she asks Will, raising her arms. He places her in her wheelchair and wheels her to the table.

"Yes, Emma's sad," he responds, looking at Emma, who won't look back at him.

"Oh." Quinn doesn't know what to say. It's weird that someone else would be sad besides her. She looks curiously at Will as Will attempts to take Emma in his arms. But Emma turns away, and then slips down the hallway towards the bedrooms.

Quinn turns to Will. "Emma's sad."

"I know, sweetie. How about we have some food and then I'll go and talk to Emma?"

Quinn nods and stares down at the pattern on the place mat while Will sighs and gets up to go to the kitchen.

Maybe she's safe now, she thinks, the thought popping into her head.

Everything is strange, and yet, finally, it feels like home.


End file.
